


Broken pieces together make a whole

by Mareridt



Series: 31 Sterek Fics - August edition [9]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comforting Derek, Comforting Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale Comforts Stiles Stilinski, Derek Has Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Stiles Has Nightmares, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, Stiles Stilinski Comforts Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 19:57:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7727821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mareridt/pseuds/Mareridt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles never really stopped having nightmares. <br/> He figured after the Nogitsune they would be less frequent, less scary, less soul tiring, but he figured wrong. </p><p>OR Five times Derek wakes Stiles from a nightmare, and one time it goes all the way around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken pieces together make a whole

**Author's Note:**

> So heey! I'm a bit late than usual, I know, but here it goes the 9th fic of the month. I've been in a bad mood today, so that's why the angst, I needed to get it out of my system. Sorry. As per usual, unbetad. My own prompt.   
> Be kind, leave lots of kudos and comments, they make my day. 
> 
> Come find me on tumblr at frostniskare.tumblr.com

 

 

Stiles never really stopped having nightmares.

He figured after the Nogitsune they would be less frequent, less scary, less soul tiring, but he figured wrong.

Eventually, he learned how to wake up without screaming. His breathing loud in the empty, dark room he once felt safe in and heart rabbitting in his chest, throat closing on the screams that tried to fight him and get free. He learned how to hide the bags under his eyes with make up in order not to look like a living dead in the mornings. He learned how to lie in front of supernatural creatures so they believed him when he said 'I'm fine'.

He learned a lot about keeping his mouth shut, but didn't really get to understand how to fix things, especially that mess that was currently himself. He had yet to learn how to bring his pieces together after every fall.

Once, Miss Morell, the school therapist, had quoted to him Churchill during a session.

“What if... it's agony now... and it's just hell later on?” he had asked, tongue heavy in his mouth, fear of getting an answer and not liking it, heart afraid of posing the question in first place. But Morell had just looked at him, eyes piercing into his very soul, like she could see every single side he kept hide from everyone.

“Then think about what Winston Churchill once said: If you're going through hell, keep going” she answered.

Stiles stayed silent.

It was like... it was like he was actually going through hell already, as if... as if in the end there would be a way out, a door with a neon word on it reading _exit_. A door which could lead him to fresh air and skies full of stars, and shining moon, freedom and relief waiting for him.

Stiles had yet to reach that door.

But he kept going, hiding his demons in his own mind, smiling and being the usual sarcastic asshole when the situations required. He was the same Stiles as before, and he was not, like of shadow of who he had been before. He just hoped no one would notice him when he lost the train of his thoughts and spaced out, staring at a point far away, lost in the darkness of his mind, eyes glazed and breath evening out on its own as if he was sleeping.

For the first times, no one did. Nothing changed.

He'd wake up in morning alone, betting he'd smell misery on himself were he a were', have breakfast when he remembered to, climb in his jeep and drive to school. He'd follow the lessons, sometimes staring ahead the teacher, sometimes taking notes. He'd have lunch with the others, pack meeting during free periods to discuss on the good news and bad news, plans about how to catch the last enemy in the territory, how to defend the boundaries, how to defend the pack. After school he'd go back home, maybe hanging around with Scott or Lydia for homeworks.

Sometimes Derek would come to his place to demand help with researchs, more material to put in their bestiary, and Stiles would drop what he'd be doing to obey and give him what he wanted. It was his duty, the human genius finding a solution to the current problem, and he was fine with it. He did have a taste of power in his body, and would be full and sick of it for a long time.

After having informed the pack with all he could find daily, he'd be newly alone and he's spend time not thinking, playing videogames or studying, distracting him in order not to overthing, and it would work, even if it left him empty and with a bitter taste at the end of the throat like he was ready to throw up.

He'd then have dinner with his dad when he was home, watch a couple of shows on TV together, help him with classified work cases and then go to bed.

He couldn't distract himself in bed, so he'd eventually get up and busy his hands and mind until he would collapse head on the pillow and fall into blackness. It wouldn't be long before the first nightmare started. He'd wake himself up a couple of time fighting back down a panic attack if it was one of the worst night. Then the following morning he'd get up, smile, repeat he was fine, and no one would call him out on the lie. No one would notice.

And day after day, that became his routine.

 

 

Until someone noticed.

 

 

The first time it happened, it was at the loft.

Scott decided to have a pack bonding night, so they brought stuff at Derek's place, stuff like a big TV – Lydia's pleasure –, consoles for videogames and DVDs' reader, lots of pillow and blankets. They brought together the king sized bed with the couch, creating a giant mattress for the whole pack to lie together. Stiles stayed by Scott's side the whole night, degradating his problems in a small corner of his mind, and he was sure his scent wasn't contaminated by misery or sickness, judging by the behavior of his friends.

They were all acting every day, but after the only time Stiles spaced out during a movie, he saw with the corner of his eyes someone staring. Turning around, Stiles met Derek's cold, stern gaze, and his heart picked up fast in his chest, as if trying to escape from his chest, scared of getting caught. Derek's frowned deepened and Stiles knew he put the pieces together.

Trying to regain his cool, Stiles turned back at the movie, waving off all the questions Scott had about the change in his heartbeat.

Stiles forgot about it until sleep time.

Being with the pack exhausted him these days, so it didn't get too long before he started dreaming. At first it was okay, it was normal, nothing twisted or dark, then it all changed. He dreamed of spirits in dark armours, of long shining swords slashing through vulnerable skin, mortal poison infecting the wounds, killing fast and painfully. He dreamed of hospital's walls covered in blood, police stations' floor full of dead bodies, shrieks echoing in high school's hallways.

Stiles opened his eyes with a loud intake of breath, throats closing on a scream, limbs flailing so uncoordinately in fear he fell with a muffled _thump_ on the cold floor. His left elbow pulsed with pain, but he ignored it in favour of scrambling to his feet and run silently to the bathroom, praying no one got up in the meantime.

Vision blurring and lungs begging for oxigen, Stiles closed the door of the bathroom and pressed his forearms against it, until suddenly it opened again with force and it sent him butt first on the tiles. He widened his eyes and looked up, only to see Derek closing the door again and kneeling beside him. “Stiles” Derek called his name, he could read it on his lips, but he didn't hear anything, blood rushing in his ears and effectively tuning out every other sound. “Stiles, you've got to breathe.”

“I can't” Stiles gasped, his body twitching when Derek's hands landed on his biceps. “Not enough air.”

“There is enough air” Derek growled low in his throat, that Stiles could hear. “You just have to let it out, and then let it in.”

Stiles whined pitifully. “Don't” he pleaded, fingers holding on his arms, mimicking the grip Derek had on him. “He used those words. The No-” his voice cracked and he panted faster, trying to get his lungs back to work unsuccessfully. “ _Let me in_ , he said” he cried out, tears streaming down his face. “ _Let me out_ , I said back.”

“Stiles” Derek paled, fear sharpening his edges. “Stiles, you have to breath. Stiles, breath.”

“I can't.”

“You can.”

“I can't.”

“You can!” Derek's voice raised and Stiles was scared the others would wake up because of him. Then Derek pressed a hand over Stiles' heart and taking Stiles' hand he did the same on his chest. “Count with me” he demanded.

Stiles kept on crying, hiccuping messily and gulping down air like a drowing man. “One” he counted, breathing in. Derek covered his mouth and nose, stopping him from breathing out so fast. Stiles' throat spasmed, but he held his breath.

“Two” Derek went on, looking him in the eyes. “Three. One.” Starting again, he let his hand fall from his face, and Stiles let the air out of his lungs, slower. Stiles understood was he was doing.

“Two” he whispered back, eyes wide but no long full of tears. “Three. One.” he breathed in once again, and after two seconds he breathed out, repeating the process until his heartbeat slowed down, his breathing evening out and syncronizing with Derek's.

Derek nodded briefly, complimenting him of getting out of a panic attack, eyebrows still furrowed in corcern, not relenting. Stiles looked at him open and trusting, thanking him with his eyes.

“Did I wake you up?” he asked, wondering if Derek had been sleeping when he got up or if he had been already awake, probably monitoring him or something. The other nodded, sitting on the bathroom tiles with crossed legs. Stiles did the same, knees bumping with his so little space between the two of them.

Derek took Stiles' elbow, which now that he was calm again throbbed with pain, and examinated the wound, blood now dry and crusted on his skin. The wolf got up, taking from one of the drawers some bandages and hydrogen peroxide. Stiles wondered why he had the hydrogen there, since being a werewolf allowed you not to get infections when wounded. Not that the wounds lasted that long to infect.

“You should tell Scott” Derek mumbled in the end, cleaning his cut. Stiles hissed at the burn, looking from his elbow to Derek and back.

“He's got enough problems” he observed. “Beside, I'm fine.”  
Now he was bandaging the wound. “That's a lie” Derek didn't even blink, he said that like it was so natural and obvious Stiles was being dumb just by thinking the opposite.

He felt anger bubble inside of him. “Why do even care?”

The wolf looked up at him. Stiles squirmed under the intense stare, but didn't back up; the more Derek stayed silent, the more he wanted to know the answer. “Go back to sleep.” he whispered out last, getting up from the floor and leaving him on the cold tiles of his bathroom.

Stiles didn't sleep for the rest of the night.

 

 

The second time it happened, Stiles was at home.

He had a bad day, Harris put him in detention just because he spaced out when he asked a question, the pack being nervous still nervous for a fight happened two days ago between Scott and the enemies who tried to circle him alone and because Isaac said he wanted to leave for France with Chris Argent.

Scott and Isaac argued a lot about that during free period.

Last but not least, his dad had been at work the whole day, the pack's problems keeping awake also the sheriff and his deputies, out to patroll the town. Stiles was alone at home and he was so, so tired.

He ended up collapsing on his bed around nine.

That time, his nightmares started immediately, Stiles founding himself in a locker, two werewolves fighting in front of him. One of them was Scott, of that he was sure, the other he couldn't quite place. Scott was losing though, so Stiles tried to get out of locker, at least to distract the fighter and give him a chance to get out of there.

But right when he was stumbling out it yelling his alpha's name, an arrow hit the unknown werewolf, iron point sticking out from his forehead. Both Scott and Stiles held their breath, and when the dead were' fell down, they could see behind him a lean figure, dark brown curlies moving with every step she made in her direction.

Scott broke into a wide teary grin, his beta form retreating for a human one. “Allison” he breathed out, voice cracking. “What...”

His alpha didn't finish the sentence. Allison shot a second arrow, this one hitting Scott's chest dead on, cutting into his heart. Stiles yelled his name, but his best friend didn't answer, already getting scold between his hands. He turned toward Allison, who just came to a stop in front of him. “Why?” he yelled. “Why did you kill Scott?”

“Because he didn't kill you when he had to” she answered, honeyed voice filled with venom. “But I'm here to fix that part.” and with those words, she raised a knife and slaughtered him.

Stiles woke up with a scream, jumping up sitting in his bed, lungs burning with how loud his shriek was, but panic was running into his veins along with blood, and he wasn't going to calm down any time soon. He hadn't wake up screaming in a long time, but it didn't matter. His father wasn't home to get worried, and Scott was in his own bed, so Stiles was alone.

He was alone, and he could scream until he lost his voice. He was alone, and he could panic until he literally passed out. He was alone, and no one would unnecessarily worry for him. He was alone, he was alone, _he was alone and_ –

Two strong arms wrapped around his shoulders, catching him from falling off the bed like last time, pulling him against a large, strong chest, the vibrations of a growl died down just now. “I killed her!” Stiles screamed, nails digging into Derek's flesh, convulsing and trying to get free from that iron grip. “I killed Allison!”

“I'm here, Stiles” Derek said, one hand catching his before he could claw himself. “Count with me, Stiles. Count with me.” he didn't obey, starting crying like his life depended on it, throat scratched raw and sore he was about to lose his voice.

“It was my fault, only my fault!” he cried out. Derek held him tighter, shaking him for his words. “I deserve it, I killed her, I killed-”

Derek's eyes probably flashed blue behind him when he roared behind him. “ _Stiles_!” Stiles almost stilled. “Breathe with me. Count from one to three.” the same exercise of the last time. “Don't worry, I've got you. Count with me.”

Stiles cried, breathing in. “One.”

When his breathing was evened out and his heartbeat under control, Stiles slumped against Derek, adrenaline wearing out and letting space to tiredness. He fell asleep like that, his ear pressed against the wolf's chest, his breathing syncronized with his, Derek's heart lulling him to sleep.

 

 

The third time it happened, Stiles was over at Derek's.

It would have been another of those bad days he passed playing videogames and studying alone in his bedroom, his dad called for the night shift to cover one of the wounded deputies in the latest shooting. After all, also hunters could go rogue and make a mess of the cities they went to.

Derek however hadn't agree with his plan of distracting himself until he could pass out, so he forced him to come over, bringing with him a bag with a change of clothes, his toothbrush and his pillow. He couldn't sleep without his pillow.

After dinner they watched TV for a while – Lydia had let it there since she had another in her room – until Stiles made the mistake of yawning in front of him. Then the man called the night off and started preparing the couch for a slight less uncomfortable sleep round.

Just as he finished, Stiles sat on it to system his pillow on one end, but Derek stopped him. “I sleep on the couch.”

Stiles tried protesting, but Derek was even more stubborn than himself. So he got under Derek's blankets, not so subtly inhaling the scent there, and went to sleep.

It didn't last long.

That night, Stiles didn't have bad dreams, fantasies made up by his twisted mind. No, he got the whole replay of his time as a nogitsune, since when he started having hallucinations and tried to kill Kira to when he attempted to kill himself in the school's hallways. Even while sleeping, he felt sick to the point of...

Stiles woke up already running for the bathroom, slamming the door open and falling on his knees in front of the toilet. He threws up repeatedly, his stomach empting with disgusting noises, Stiles almost falling face first in the water because he didn't have energy to stay up. That's when Derek came in help, keeping him sitten, helping him not to throw on himself.

After the retchs died, Derek helped him clean his mouth and brush his teeth, and Stiles was ready to finally calm down for the night, but he didn't. All it took was looking into Derek's sad eyes in the mirrow and he broke down all over again. He cried, and cried, and cried, Derek's arms a safe place where to hide, until he couldn't do it anymore and slumped again against him like a dead weight.

The wolf didn't complain, he picked him up and brought him back on the bed. Just when he was about to leave, Stiles grabbed an handful of his shirt, keeping him there.

“Stay” he whispered, broken. Derek nodded and layed down next to him, face on the same level as his. Stiles didn't know from where the need came from, but suddenly he found himself pressing his lips against Derek's, a sweet chaste kiss admitting everything he wasn't brave enough to say aloud. “Stay”, he repeated.

Derek took a deep breath, eyes open and loving. “I won't go anywhere” he promised.

Stiles was lullied back to sleep by him, the wolf humming a song, the vibrations reverbering inside Stiles' chest. He finally relaxed to the sound of Derek's voice repeating “You're safe with me.”

 

 

He was again at Derek's the fourth time.

They were sleeping together in Derek's bed, his chest pillowing Stiles' head, his heartbeat an anchor to Stiles anxiety. It wasn't enough, but it made the nightmares delay if he stayed in that position.

The problem started when he woke up. He couldn't remember the nightmare, it had been blurred and fast, image after image, scene after scene, voice after voice, and Stiles couldn't keep up with it. No, that time the problem wasn't the nightmare itself. It was his eyes opening.

At first Stiles was confused, his surrounding unfamiliar, as if he was still dreaming. But in front oh him there was a window and he could still see his reflection. He tried counting his fingers, and he had five for each hand. He looked for something to read, and found a neon poster on the street. He could read it.

No, he wasn't dreaming. He was well awake. Then where was he? On his left there was a table, on his right some sort of cupboard. It wasn't something he had at home, it wasn't his. Where was he? How did he come there?

The answer dawned on him like the guillotine on the head of a man sentenced to death.

He _sleepwalked_.

“Derek!” Stiles screamed loud, fingers already starting to shake. “Derek!” in less than a minute he was hyperventilating. He called for his boyfriend another time, and then he appeared next to him, grabbing him by the shoulder and looking at him in the eyes.

“Stiles? Stiles, what's wrong?” he asked, concern filling his wonderful green eyes.

“I sleepwalked, Derek” he cried out. “I sleepwalked! I only did that with- And I did tonight!”

Derek frowned, his fingers tightening on Stiles' shoulder. “Stiles, I don't get what-”

“I am in your kitchen!” Stiles yelled again. “I have no reason to be here! I don't remember how I got here! Fucking shit, Derek, I fucking sleepwalked and I don't-”

Suddenly warm lips were pressed against his, and Stiles held his breath for several seconds, not yet used at the feeling of Derek kissing him. It was chaste, none of them really wanting to deepen it, and when Derek parted, Stiles was breathing almost normally again. “Stiles, I sent you to the kitchen” the wolf explained. “You just woke up, you were relaxed, and I joked saying I was thirsty. You got up to take me a glass of water.”

Stiles' eyes teared. “But I don't remember-”

“Stiles, that's alright” Derek cupped his face. “You probably fell asleep barely two seconds while walking, okay? That's why you forgot and got scared. You're alright, you're safe” he hugged him tightly. “I'd never let you get hurt, Stiles. Never again. You're safe here with me, I promise.”

Stiles drew in a shuddering breath against Derek's collarbone. “I know” he whispered, honest. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Derek gave him the water he was looking for and then brought him to bed. Listening to his boyfriend singing softly a lullaby only for him, Stiles got back to sleep. He didn't have nightmares for the rest of the night.

 

 

The fifth time, nothing happened like usual.

He remembered the nightmare, but didn't get scared or tense from it. He remembered waking up, but didn't do that with a convulsion or a scream.

Stiles simply opened his eyes, the nightmare ending like that behing his eyelids, and he stared in the void for a long time. Then he sat up, exhaustion making his bones ache, his head hummer like a storm was going on in it. It was weird, it was unsual, it was the _end_.

Because Stiles was so done. He was so done he looked out of the window, wondering if he'd find peace letting himself fall over the sill. Maybe yes. Almost surely.

He was about to get up when a hand reached up at his and interwined their fingers together. “Hey” Derek creeked out, sleepely. “What's wrong?”

“Hi there” Stiles mumbled, too tired to even smile at him.

“Got another one of those?”

Stiles nodded, then stared again ahead, not really paying attention at his boyfriend sitting up and leaning on him with his chin on his shoulder. “I'm just tired, you know? Tired of the agony, tired of the hell. I want it to stop, to subside, to go away. I want it to leave me alone.” Stiles sighed. “But it's not gonna happen, right? Things like this are going to persecute you forever.”

Derek didn't say anything for a long time, staring at him with knowing bitterness. “I'm just tired” he repeated.

“I know” was the answer. Stiles turned to look at him, remembering how he wasn't the only one with issues, and Derek locked eyes with him. The wolf knew when he was about to say something, to darken up the mood even more with serious discussions none of them was really ready to front.

So he leaned more, capturing Stiles' mouth with his in a lazy, slow kiss, telling him he understood with the slow slide of his tongue against his.

Stiles let Derek do everything he wanted. He let him take their clothes off, lay them under the blankets again. He let him use his fingers until he was open, pliant and distract under him. He let him thrust inside with the rhythm he wanted, both of them chasing release but in no rush to take it.

Stiles had already lost his virginity to Derek, so the sex was nothing new in their relationship. However, _make love like that_ was. All the love and the tenderness Derek felt for him were being shouted at him with slow, deep thrusts, and everything Stiles thought about Derek was confessed in equal misure with panting kisses and breathless moans.

They came together, just a couple of seconds after the other, and not caring about the mess they made of their bodies and the blankets, they lay there together until they feel asleep.

Nothing disturbed them for the whole night.

 

 

During his relationship with Derek, Stiles learned how to cope with his nightmares.

He learned how to tame his demons, how to fight down his panic attacks. He learned how to let the control slip so someone else could do what was better. He learned how to ask for help when he couldn't do it on his own.

Stiles learned a lot of things from Derek, and he thought he learned a lot about Derek too, but sometimes he forgot little but important details, like he did that night.

It had been almost three weeks since the last time Stiles had had a nightmare in the same bad as Derek. The wolf had been proud of the recond and even if he didn't show it too much, Stiles knew, just like he knew how happy he was about keeping Stiles safe.

Because Stiles was broken, that they knew, but he wasn't the only one.

So when he woke up that night, he wondered what was going on. He was convulsing, he was shaking, panting whines and growling low.

Wait, no. Stiles couldn't growl.

He sat up alarmingly fast, looking down at his lover to see Derek wolfed out, claws digging into the mattress because he didn't fist his hands in time to claw himself, and fangs clenching tight. Stiles carefully but fast put his hands on Derek's chest, shaking slightly. “Derek” he called, soft but firm. “Derek. Derek, wake up.”

The wolf whined again, the tendins in his neck straining painfully when he arched off the bed and let the head fall behind. Stiles felt his chest clutch tight at the sight. “Derek!”

His once green eyes snapped open, blue irises flashing at him while a roar echoed in the loft, Derek coming back into reality and hyperventilating. “Fire” he whimpered. “Fire, blood, family, _pack_.”

Stiles felt like dying inside listening to Derek describing his nightmare. He dreamed of the fire, of course. What Kate did to him was forever going to hunt him in his sleep.

“Derek, it's me” Stiles tried to calm him down. “It's me, Stiles. You here with me. No fire.”

“But my family, my pack-”

“It's you and me here, now” Stiles didn't tell him they were gone, he already knew. “You're here with me. You're at home. You're safe.”

They started counting together from one to three, breathing in and breathing out alternating between every start until Derek slowly calmed down. He shifted back to human, green eyes screaming their love at Stiles. “Thanks” he whispered in a soft voice.

Stiles smiled, kissing him with gentleness. “Don't thank me, I was just returning the favour.” he didn't tell him Derek should have admitted he had nightmares too, it wasn't necessary. Now Stiles knew and he's keep an eye out for him everytime he needed.

Derek chuckled humorlessly. “Guess I'm just broken as you, huh?”

Stiles lied down again, hiding his face in the crook between his neck and shoulder. “Broken pieces together make a whole, don't you know?”

His boyfriend pulled back to look back at him with teary eyes. “Yeah, I know” he nodded, kissing him again, deep and slow. “I love you.”

Stiles closed his eyes. “I love you too.”

 


End file.
